Uncooperative Client
by gopadfoot
Summary: "I'm not a client," Mycroft said. "Then leave," Sherlock said nonchalantly. Mycroft reaches a new realization. One-shot, AU of TFP.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm not a client," Mycroft protested.

"Then leave," Sherlock answered nonchalantly, still not looking at his brother.

The words hit Mycroft in his gut, hurting in a way he didn't know he could still hurt. He looked at his brother, observing his hardened expression. Mycroft's gaze then turned to Dr. Watson, whose lips were quirkiness up in a small, amused smile. Then he turned his head to the doorway, to see the landlady's gleeful expression, her enjoyment caused by his utter humiliation.

Mycroft experienced an instant flashback to the night before: the invasion, the scare, the mocking comments by both his brother and Watson. The rest of his night was spent slumped at his office desk, after having escaped his unprotected home.

He took a step towards the chair, and then stopped in his tracks. _W_ _hy? Why give in, and play their game? To what end?_

Mycroft had a serious situation to settle. He needed people who would actually work together with him, not ones who would waste time and resources to extract petty revenge. The duo in this room clearly weren't capable of doing that right now.

 _What about Sherlock? Doesn't he deserve an explanation?_ Mycroft's Guilty Conscience continued nagging.

 _I did this for him, to protect him. He has no idea what he is getting himself into._ The Voice of Reason was winning.

Perhaps, in an alternate universe, Mycroft would have played along. He might have told the story. (Would he have told the truth about Redbeard, when no doubt John's judgemental eyes would be on him constantly? Who knows?) He might have even planned out some strategy with them, and let himself be convinced to go along. Sherlock would no doubt want something flashy, perhaps even pirate-related, and John would jump in eagerly.

In this universe, however, Mycroft wouldn't. Not only because of the incompetence of the two men, who would let a whole night pass without addressing the situation, only to break him further. But also, if he dare to admit, because he had had enough.

Constantly watching over his brother, being expected to bail him out, no matter the cost, and never getting as much as a thank you. Having his brother's friends constantly questioning his brotherly devotion, while at the same time calling upon him in times of crisis. Then there was the scorn, the criticism, and some more humiliation on the side. (Reptile, anyone?)

So Mycroft stood still in front of the blasted client chair. Putting on his iciest, most reptilian smile, he said coldly, "Thank you. I will."

And he left.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This is a sequel to the previous one-shot. Some people were wondering how the Sherrinford issue would be resolved after the end of that one-shot. Here's my idea of what could have happened.

* * *

It was two days after Mycroft had turned his back on his brother and the doctor. Two days, that the detective and his friend spent scheming and plotting, but ultimately unable to do anything. With Mycroft holding on tightly to his secrets, they were clueless about how to proceed.

Sherlock tried, nevertheless. He hacked into government bases, searching for a clue about top secret facilities that held psychotic criminals, but didn't get anywhere. Wherever his sister was being held, it was shrouded in such secrecy that even Sherlock Holmes couldn't see through it.

"This isn't working," Sherlock admitted wearily.

"No, it isn't," John concurred. "If only Mycroft would have cooperated... Our plan was working, initially."

"Maybe," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Or maybe not. Perhaps I pushed things too far." He sighed.

"What's our next step?" John asked, his mouth set in a tense line.

"I don't know," the detective admitted.

Sherlock's phone vibrated suddenly.

 _My office at 3-_ MH.

Sherlock texted back quickly.

 _I don't take orders from you_ \- SH.

 _Not an order. It's an opportunity-_ MH.

The younger Holmes sighed again. "Come on, John, we're going."

"Was that Mycroft?" John asked curiously. Sherlock nodded.

"Then I'm not going. Whatever he has to offer, I'm not interested."

"What he's offering, John, is a second chance. This isn't the time for petty rivalries, not when there are people I need to protect." His voice hitched at the word "people," and Sherlock wondered if his friend would ever realize how much Sherlock would sacrifice for John's sake. "Nothing takes priority over that, not even teaching Mycroft a lesson."

The doctor hesitated for several moments. Then he gave a decisive, soldier-like nod. "I'm coming."

* * *

Mycroft's reception was cold and official, but not hostile, at least. "Sherlock, Dr. Watson," he greeted them curtly. "Have a seat."

He clicked on a keyboard, and a mounted screen came to life. "This," Mycroft said crisply, as an image of a looming complex amidst a stormy sea was projected, "is Sherrinford. This is where our suspect was incarcerated. Two days ago, I ordered a team to infiltrate and take over the prison complex."

"I want to know why I don't remember her!" Sherlock burst out.

"That's not the issue at hand right now. There was a psychotic criminal lose, and I want to reassure you that she has been contained, and poses a threat to no one."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You will stop lying to me. I need to know!"

"What will you gain from that information?" Mycroft asked, his tone a touch softer.

"The truth, pure and simple" Sherlock answered. The brothers held each other's gaze for a long moment. Mycroft broke first, and sighed. "The truth is rarely pure, and never simple," he said softly. "Are you sure you're ready to hear it? Because the truth I'm about to tell you will bring forth buried demons that have haunted you throughout your life."

"Then it's about time I confront them, don't you think?" Sherlock retorted.

Mycroft complied. His fear about Sherlock breaking under the revelations was still present, but muted. His little brother was growing up, and the time had arrived when he could shield him no more.

Mycroft considered hiding Redbeard's true identity. He didn't have the heart to dig up the ghost of the little boy, once Sherlock's best friend, whose death had nearly destroyed the young Sherlock.

But Sherlock had accepted his second chance. He had trusted Mycroft enough to come to his territory, and listen to his side. Lying to him now would deal a killing blow to the fragile trust between them, and Mycroft would do anything to prevent that.

"Redbeard," said Mycroft, "was not who you remember."

The bombshell was dropped, the truth was told, and Sherlock, though obviously devastated, did not fall apart.

"What happened at Sherrinford, in the end?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"We sent in a team, and took all the staff into custody and replaced them with our own men. Under interrogation, most of them broke, and we found out the horrifying truth. _Every single one of them_ was being controlled by none other than Eurus Holmes."

"Can she do that?" John asked, horrified.

Mycroft nodded wearily. "Then I spoke to Eurus herself. When she realized the game was up, she told me about all of her schemes, in detail." Mycroft looked glimmer than either of the men had ever seen him.

"She was counting on me to go along with your plans," he continued, spitting the words furiously. "She can read all of us like she reads her musical notes. She counted on the three of us barging in there, undercover. She also mentioned something about piracy," he looked at Sherlock.

The younger man smiled sheepishly. "I might have thought about it..."

"And that's why it's a good thing I handled this myself," Mycroft said acidly. "If I would have played along with your games, there would have been bloodshed. I don't know if any of us would have survived."

A heavy silence settled over the office. "Where is she now?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Safe. We rehauled the entire system in order to ensure that such major lapses never occur again."

"I want to see her," Sherlock said.

Mycroft wiped his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Yes, of course you would. You'll get there, whether I allow it or not, won't you?"

Sherlock just grinned.

"Please, just be careful," Mycroft begged.

"You're still afraid of her, aren't you?" Sherlock challenged.

"As long as she can still pose the smallest threat to you, Sherlock, I'll never stop being afraid."

There was another exchange of long, meaningful looks. "I understand," Sherlock answered, and that was all Mycroft could ask to hear.


End file.
